The Element of Surprise
by SuperKateB
Summary: Nigel recieves an unexpected gift from his better half. (BugNigel slash.)


**"The Element of Surprise"  
A Crossing Jordan Fanfiction  
In the "Strange Bedfellows" Continuity  
Written by Kate "SuperKate" Butler**

Nigel sighed and lulled his head up against the door to Autopsy 2, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. The arguing he'd left behind - Jordan and Woody butting heads over some trivial, ultimately useless piece of evidence that had gotten misplaced in the normal morgue shuffle - rose in a steep crescendo despite the best efforts of the doors, windows, and cinderblock walls to trap it all in. Long days, it seemed, were part and parcel to being a Boston medical examiner, and this particular day had been made all the longer when Bug had announced that he and Sydney had a body on the outskirts of town and probably would not be back from the crime scene until relatively late.

Shaking his head, the lanky man straightened his spine and headed towards his workstation. No time to worry about how his dinner plans - grilled salmon, rice pilaf, and some crisp white wine - had been thoroughly ruined by the inconsiderate propensity of Boston natives to die far from the morgue. Tired, irritable, and battling with a tidy headache, he collapsed into his desk chair and wiggled his mouse. The monitor brightened to alertness, and revealed, of all things, an open Microsoft Word document on screen.

He frowned initially but, upon recognizing the somewhat-awkward narrative style of the document at hand, smiled warmly and allowed himself to read.

_N -_

_Thanks to my required expedition to the ne'er-do-good portion of Boston with Wonder Boy,  
I will be somewhat late to dinner tonight. I say "somewhat late" because I still intend on coming.  
And, just to heighten the sense of delight provided by this revelation:  
I have a surprise for you.  
See you and your delicious salmon tonight._

No signature awaited him, not that he'd expected one to. The familiarity of the writing - and its understated, quiet tenderness - told more than any "hyphen B" sign-off could.

Nigel remained tired, irritable, and continued to wage war against his headache for the rest of the day, but found himself with renewed spirit as he did so.

After all, if there was any one thing that Nigel Townsend truly loved (beyond, of course, the one missing medical examiner with a hapless writing style), it was a surprise.

o-o-o

"...uhm, pet?"

"Yes?"

"What IS it?"

The suspicious, awkwardly-shaped fabric dangled lifelessly from Nigel's fingers as he held it up and out, away from his body. Elsewhere in his eclectic, disorganized apartment, the lingering scent of salmon and wild rice pilaf mingled in the air, combining with the aroma of a cinnamon-scented candle that Bug, arriving late with the wine, had insisted on lighting to "better suite the ambiance." Said wine sat, half-empty, on the coffee table, sharing the space with their two, mostly-drained wine glasses and now an unwrapped, suspiciously cream-colored box. The couple was settled comfortably onto the battered leather couch, ensconced in a large, checkered throw blanket and admiring the...whatever exactly it was.

The offending gift, black silk patterned with boxes in a silver matte, shimmered in the candlelight.

Bug's toes, sock-covered and warm, curled beneath his. "You don't know?"

"If I had even the faintest of ideas, love, I would not admit to my own unfortunate ignorance." Dark lips smiled around the rim of a wine glass. "Is it some sort of kinky perv toy?"

Snorting, Bug shook his head, his chin fitting comfortably into the crook of the taller man's shoulder. "You wish."

"Absolutely." His smirk failed, however, as he scratched the back of his neck, turning the fabric around. "Is it the newest style of dishtowel?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Pet, you of all people should well know by now that 'Ridiculous' is my middle name." He caught the pursed brown lips in a brief kiss, but it took no forensic criminologist to gather that Bug was on edge. His every motion made that evident as his eyes flitted from the gift to Nigel's face and back again, waiting.

The element of surprise, usually, ended up being lost on one who could not identify the surprise at hand. Nigel searched for the right words - or any words, really - as his lover shifted beneath the blanket. And then, he caught glimpse of a familiar, tan-and-tweed article of clothing, and it all made sense.

"It's a lovely VEST," he declared, stressing the last word in such a way that it sounded light, as though he'd known all along exactly what the gift was and had simply been toying with the emotions of his staring, now-obviously-relieved better half. "Thank you, Buggles." He folded the accessory neatly - well, as neatly as Nigel Townsend could fold anything - and settled back down into the well-worn sofa cushions.

The other man scooted slightly away, a forlorn glance lingering on the newly-folded vest before he burrowed himself further in the blanket and focused, instead, on the white-gold liquid in his wine glass.

The murmured accusation that followed only a split second later nearly caused Nigel to inhale his riesling.

"You don't like it."

Hacking, the thin man doubled over, clutching his knees until he recovered from his first-ever attempt at breathing wine. "What?" he demanded when the coughing finally ebbed, staring wide-eyed at his companion. He was uncertain which blow stung more: the fact that Bug didn't believe his declaration of vest-love, or the fact that his acting had failed so charmingly. "Don't be daft, Buggles. I adore it."

"And now you're being smarmy." The dark tone echoed heavily through the room as Bug cast a heartbroken glance up through dark, thick eyelashes. "I know you don't like it. You don't have to pretend you do. You can just admit it."

Nigel alone knew how untrue such a statement was. "I don't need to lie," protested the one-time Londoner, though he found himself unable to smile as the words tumbled from his lips. He pulled the gift again from the box, tissue paper falling forgotten to the floor. The silver buttons glinted in the combination of light from the candle and the ceiling fan fixture. "It's rather suave, and I do rather like it. Promise."

He attempted to land the briefest of kisses on his lover's cheek, but the sign of affection was expertly avoided by a bowing head.

Bug paused a beat before the next words sprang forth from his throat. "If you like it, prove it."

Nigel, for the life of him, could not tell if the words came as a challenge (light-hearted and daring, meant to egg his more competitive side on), scientific (as though affection could be easily proven, with or without the use of a spectrometer), or genuine (born of a continuous, stifling inclination towards inadequacy demonstrated by the entomologist on a rather regular basis). But reasons for the comment be as they were, he was completely ready to refuse any sort of gesture until he caught sight of bright brown eyes glimmering imploringly up at him, far brighter than even the metallic vest buttons, still shining in the light.

Sighing in acute defeat (of both principle and fashion sense, one may have chosen to add), Nigel's shoulders slumped. The gesture remained unnoticed by his partner, perhaps due to the warm smile he forced himself to wear as he continued to dangle the vest before him.

"What kind of proof, love, do you have in mind?"

o-o-o

"Nigel! Hey, Nigel!"

The booming, urgent voice of Boston Detective Woodrow "Woody" Hoyt echoed through the sterile tile-and-cinderblock hallway of the morgue, and it honestly jarred his teeth more than he'd expected it to. The sunny, cold winter morning had brought only a minimal amount of meaningless busy work and mind-boggling cases to the medical examiner's office, though rumor had spread that the one murder case floating somewhere around the building was a dozy.

Evidently, the rumor had not been far off.

Dr. Nigel Townsend whirled quickly on his heels, his hands tucked into his back pockets as he came face-to-face with the suit-garbed officer. "Why, good morning, Woodrow," he greeted, his voice alight to the point of sing-song. "What useless favor awaits me on this fine, bright morning, hmm?"

Woody, buried as he often was in his own obsessive thoughts, remained unamused. "I need you to run stomach contents on the body Jordan's autopsying," he explained hastily. "We... We...think..." He trailed suddenly off, his Adam's apple bobbing as his hazel eyes moved slowly down Nigel's body and then up again, past the skin-tight pleather pants, billowing maroon silk dress shirt, and then over the silver-boxed, black silk vest, its bright buttons open across the lanky man's chest.

The cop, for the briefest of moments, stared slack-jawed at the other man's chosen ensemble for the day, unblinking. "We... We, uhm..." Woody shook his head as though clearing away the cobwebs. "We think he might have been poisoned." The end of his comment barely qualified as a squeak, however, and he cleared his throat loudly. "We need to know where the vic had dinner."

"Nigel's on the case, chief." He grinned widely, mock-saluting the detective. The familiar gaze still stared at his newest article of clothing, eyes wide to the point of glazing over. "Anything else?"

Woody shook his head and the ME turned back around, hiding an obscenely large, amused smile. Evidently, the element of surprise was not lost on the detective any more than it had been lost on the entire staff of the Boston County Morgue. And neither, he supposed, was the fact that another ME was currently wearing almost the exact same thing in Trace Evidence...minus the pleather, of course.

"Oh, uhm, and hey... Nigel?"

Nigel tossed a casual glance over his shoulder at the still-gaping, still-confused, still-clueless Woody.

"Hmm?"

"Nice vest."

**Fin.**

Standard Disclaimer: Crossing Jordan and related characters belong to Tailwind Productions and NBC, not me.

Author's notes: Just fluff. Plain and simple. Shameless and stupid fluff. But it's cute.

"Strange Bedfellows" is a continuity in which Nigel and Bug are an actual couple. If you like the couple, and reading about their adventures together, check out:

"Outside, Looking In"  
"Possible Impossibilities"  
"The Taste of Lime"  
"24/7"

February 18, 2005  
10:42 a.m.


End file.
